Stories of Ansalon from the view of Daolyn.

Astinus says 'Enter the main library here to view only the author list.'
Astinus gently places a small leaflet on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Daolyn' scribed in light maroon ink.

Author: Daolyn
Date: Fri Mar 23 15:21:59 2007
Subject Backstory
The sun was sinking slowly over the trees past the river that wound its way
through the villiage. As the shadows lengthened like fingers reaching away
from the sun, a commotion was heard from one of the huts and, briefly, a light
could be seen as the bearhide door was flung open, and a young male minotaur
tossed outside like a sack of meat.
An Older minotaur followed him outside, a tremdous axe held loosely in his
left hand. He gentured with the weapon and the sinking sun sparked off a long
spike that jutted from the back of the blade. "Go from here, and never return!
You have brought shame to your family. Imagine: Killing your own brother!"
The larger minotaur yelled at the writhing form on the ground.
The young minotaur looked up, and his eyes caught the reflection of the sun
from the axehead. They burned with anger.
"I had to! He was plotting against you! Just because you are so blinded by
his lies, can't you see! I will show you the very poison he would have used
to kill you!" His voice rose, and other doors opened as members of the
villiage came to see But the older minotaur was unfazed either by the
younger's plea, or the presence of others. "Poison that you probably put
there yourself to discredit him. You have always envied his place as
firstborn." The younger minotaur raised his head from the ground. "Father,
please-"
"How dare you?!" His father shouted, raising the axe. "How dare you call me
such when you have the blood of your bother on your hands and horns!?"
He raised his axe above his head and swung it with the wicked spike whistling
through the air, into his son's knee, the steel point cutting through to the
dirt beneath the leg.
The younger minotaur writhed in pain for a moment, then was unable to stifle a
scream as his father pulled the spike out. Blood pooled beneath the leg as he
stood over the prone form of his son, his axe seeming to bleed onto the hard
earth.
"Go from here. Go, and never return. From this day forth, no one will ever
speak the name of Daolyn again. Begone from my sight stranger. Your face
reminds me of my lost son."
Slowly Daolyn looked around as the other villigers went back to their homes,
their backs turned to him. He started to crawl towards the river, where there
would be herbs he could bind his wound with. He had heard of armies in
sanction. Perhaps they could use another fighter. He spared one last look
back at his former home, and then continued to crawl onwards, ignoring the
blood that trailed after him.

The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD

Astinus points to the massive wall of books behind him and bids you to make a selection.